


Eight are the Roots

by Parrot_Assbutt



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Gen, Meltdown, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wirt has a Moment(TM) and Greg is Greg, Wirt needs to stop overthinking, im personally not sure of the difference, look fam i cried over this series now s u f f e r, mild description of gross sobbing, possible spoilers for the comics, references to drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parrot_Assbutt/pseuds/Parrot_Assbutt
Summary: The weight of it all finally sets in.
Relationships: Gregory & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Growing Pains [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822687
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	Eight are the Roots

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Freshly home from the hospital, Wirt figured it had been a simple and reasonable enough request, and obliged. And so he lay in his bed, back to back with Greg, the blankets wrapped and curled around them like a nest.

 _A nest_.

Wirt couldn't help but think back to their time in the Unknown, the nest in the tree hollow where he'd awoken surrounded by Beatrice's family, soft and dry and warm—well as warm as you could be surrounded by eleven or so little bluebirds.

 _Wait_.

Greg hadn't seen the nest.

 _Of course_ , he reminded himself. _He and Greg were separated at that point_. Wirt had ventured there alone.

A shiver crept through him, his body reminding him of the cold of the pond seeping into his veins until he could barely move. He pulled the blanket tighter around him, careful not to yank them away from Greg's sleeping form. His stomach turned, and so did he, rolling onto his back as two white lights caught the corner of his eye—

_(there is a light for the lost and meek)_

Wirt jolted, sucking in a gasp and screaming bloody murder all at the same time, letting loose a noise like an animal with its leg caught between unforgiving teeth

_(there is only the forest, and there is only surrender)_

The blurriness of sleep ebbed from his vision, and through a crack in the curtains he saw the neighbor's porch lights had turned on. He gave a heavy sigh, easing his limbs out of the defensive crouch he found himself in. Having seen the source of the light, his eyes would be continuously drawn to it until it was covered up. He slipped a foot out from the bed and froze. Closing the curtain would require getting up. Getting up would mean leaving Greg's side, leaving his spot to grow cold, leaving Greg alone, even just a short distance—

 _Stop it_ , he commanded himself, slapping his cheeks. That was ridiculous at best. They were in the same room for Pete's sake, with the door shut and the window latched tight, keeping them safe, _keeping the outside out—_

"Stop _-stop_ it." He said, this time aloud, voice barely more than a whisper, punctuated by shuddering breaths. He could hardly speak, his heart still pounding away like a miniature steam hammer in his chest. _Just breathe, Wirt. You're in your room, Greg's right here, you're home now. You're safe now. He's safe now. He's right there, next to you._

But he'd been right next to him before. When he'd laid down to sleep on a bed of grass and leaves, Greg had been beside him then, in an instant gone in the snowy woods.

_Oh God, how could he even think to sleep now?_

Hadn't sleep been what nearly cost him his brother? Letting go into that senseless state, then having woken up to find that Greg was gone. Not wholly _gone_ , but gone with the Beast, deeper into the woods.

How long had he been alone in those woods? How long had he waited before Wirt finally found him, before he pried the edelwood from his half-frozen body as his hands his body shook from cold from barely stifled sobs. How easy would it be to snatch him once again, if Beatrice alone had been able to reach their world, not even a witch but as a bluebird of all things, _how easily he had let Greg slip away?_

_How easily had the both of them nearly died?_

Greg lay still on the bed, blissfully unaware of his brother now almost hyperventilating beside him. Wirt shifted, now staring him down with eyes like a deer's in the headlights, and laid a hand on his brother's side.

He was still warm. Toasty, even, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Wirt felt his own breath hitch as tears spilled down his face. He hadn't even realized they'd welled up. _God, he was such an idiot._

They were safe.

_They weren't safe._

_Greg was alive. They were both alive._

_Would they ever be_ _safe?_

_He couldn't breathe, mucus running down his throat water down his face water water_

Wirt couldn't breathe.

* * *

Greg awoke to the sound of shaking sobs and a muffled groan that sounded like pain.

_(he thought back to the dog that was Not The Beast, shortly before it had coughed up the turtle)_

He rubbed his eyes and flipped over to face his brother, who knelt before him a trembling, wide-eyed, shivering mess.

"Good morning, Wirt. Is the sun still asleep?" He yawned.

It was night still, and would be night for another few hours. Wirt opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out were stuttering breaths, like something inside him was trying to break loose. Greg sat up, just so that the glare of the porch lights caught his in the eyes.

"Can we fix the window? It's too bright out."

That seemed to draw Wirt from his silence, and he sniffed and nodded in affirmation, letting the smaller boy climb onto his back. Even with their combined weight, they padded over to the window without a sound, and shut out that damned pair of lights that seemed so keen on staring them down.

"Hey, Wirt, your shirt's all wet. You're gonna catch a cold like that."

_(cold, wet)_

Wirt hummed a near-silent "mh", no longer breathing through his mouth, and set Greg back on the bed, who then nestled right back into the blanket cocoon. The bed shifted as Wirt sat beside him, body still shaking. In the darkness Greg could make out his brother's face. He finally realized then that Wirt had been crying.

"Wirt, what's wrong?"

Wirt said nothing. Greg thought long and hard on what might have upset him so.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

The older boy hesitated, his insides twisted in no small amount of shame that Greg wouldn't understand—couldn't understand, even had it been written out on his face.

Part of Wirt was back in the Unknown. Part of him was still stuck there, even now, though his body stood in the world of the living. Part of him was still kneeling at the roots of the edelwood tree threatening to consume the child before him.

Greg didn't need to carry that around in his mind, no matter how he would interpret it.

"Yes—yes, it was just a dream." He said, voice small but something more than a whisper. He lied. He hadn't slept a wink since the sun went down the evening before.

"Oh. I get those too sometimes. Do you want mom? I can go get her."

"No, no, it's fine, Greg...just, go back to sleep."

Greg hummed in thought. "Okay...Do you want a hug?"

Wirt was silent for a while after that, eyes cast down to the bedsheets, walls, anywhere he didn't have to look him in the eye. Then,

"Yes."

Greg crawled over to his brother and wrapped his arms around his thin frame, smile just as bright and cheery as ever. And, gradually, Wirt returned the action.

_(looking back, Greg would notice that Wirt never held anyone that tightly)_

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Greg slumped against Wirt's side, who then released him.

"G'night, Wirt." And just like that, Greg was fast asleep.

"Goodnight, Greg."

Wirt laid on his side, back to back with his brother, and let his body crash into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
